


Rose Witch

by bluebicpenbitch



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Based on a painting, Giacomo Balla, dachshund, dynamism of a dog on a leash, oil paint, the dog dies?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:54:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23191225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebicpenbitch/pseuds/bluebicpenbitch
Summary: English assignment.





	Rose Witch

The dog was running. Rather, it was trying to run, and to the untrained eye, it appeared that the dog was indeed moving. However, this was not the case. It was a bit like the setup for a joke: the premise was established, the plot was extended, and then the audience’s expectations were subverted. 

In this case, the situation wasn’t humourous. It wasn’t comical. The dog had been frozen, its legs in a blur, trying to escape from what had set it in its forever place. The daschund was short, height wise. The long body didn’t account for much in this case, except for more target area for the spell to take place. 

The leash was the worst part. The dog had always worn a collar - that was just a staple of its being. But the dog had never needed a leash. Trust had been established long ago, but now? That trust was broken. A leash like this should not have existed. Traditionally, the dog could withstand short amounts of time on the leash. Now, it was chained to a dimension rather than a single spot. Frantic movements to try and escape had accounted for nothing at all. 

It had been quite a sad and rather pathetic thing to watch: the dog had been wagging its solid, whip-like tail around in excitement. Then, the mood had shifted. Normally, the dog’s owner would speak in happy tones, urging the dog along as they prepared for their daily walk. The morning of the 13th, everything had shifted. It was as if the dog had walked into a house where everything was two inches to the left, and somebody had lit an unfamiliar candle in the ceiling: something was wrong, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell until the place was burned down. The owner had been set about, anxiously waiting for something. As the dog had no sense of time, it could tell that something was about to happen, but couldn’t have told you when if their life had depended on it. Ironic, that it actually did. 

Dogs are generally not depicted as the partners of witches. No, that honor was reserved for cats. Dogs got respectable positions as companions of knights and kings. No dog worth their snout would ever go down in legend as a witch’s familiar. Perhaps it is fitting, then, that the dachshund we speak of went up when it was transformed? 

The oily leash had felt like a dripping glob that forced its way into the dog’s quaint life. Its excitement had been transformed into terror, although those emotions were on the same spectrum, and for a dog there is not much difference. The disgusting feeling of having something wet and room temperature drip slowly down your back and freeze you across multiple planes of existence was not one that the dog would wish on anybody. Of course, the dog unfortunately could not speak a single word during the whole unpleasant experience, as it did not know how. 

Delilah Copperspoon, the dog’s master, accomplished almost exactly what she had been trying to do. The Rose Witch had immortalized herself with her paints, but she made several distinct miscalculations that ended poorly for both the dog and herself. First, kinetic motion is hard to capture, as the final product shows. Secondly, the philosophy of “measure twice and cut once” should have been applied to this painting. Delilah did not account for her own ego inflating the size of her body: she was left immortal, yes, but only her feet and the bottom of her ever-flowing skirt. 

The poor dog. Ever faithful it had remained, but no longer. Instead, it was doomed to an oily eternity, unable to see, smell, or bark. Purgatory, limbo, even hell would have been better - the greed of one led to the punishment of another. 

The Rose Witch got what she deserved. Years and years of praying, begging, pleasing, lying, cheating, and finally painting her way through with blood had culminated in this, and still she failed to find the spark she thought the Outsider desired. The rats had come and gone, and she found that though cats were better suited at killing the pests of Paris, a dog was better. Cats could judge her, and they did, refusing to side-eye her. They often stared directly into her soul. Then they would leave. Dogs had no such gift of sight, and dachshunds had enough bark to scare away those who might have mattered. 

The Outsider, deemed to be a cruel watcher of fate by Delilah, Copperspoon laughed when he saw the final results of her obsession. It was always the same, no matter what universe she landed in. Obsession, action, consequence. In his eyes, she was nothing more than a colorful feather in a grimy world. So much potential, wasted here. It could be dangerous in another, but they were safe, at least this time. 

There were others that drew his attention. 

**Author's Note:**

> https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/3/36/Giacomo_Balla%2C_1912%2C_Dynamism_of_a_Dog_on_a_Leash%2C_oil_on_canvas%2C_89.8_x_109.8_cm%2C_Albright-Knox_Art_Gallery.jpg/1200px-Giacomo_Balla%2C_1912%2C_Dynamism_of_a_Dog_on_a_Leash%2C_oil_on_canvas%2C_89.8_x_109.8_cm%2C_Albright-Knox_Art_Gallery.jpg
> 
> Based on the above image.


End file.
